An Heir To Make You Proud
by xinglongneo
Summary: Because you never thought you would have an heir just like you, even if no one else can see it. Because even though you are chained, imprisoned, derided, she makes you proud.
1. An Heir to Make you Proud

"Hello, mother."

The voice jerks you out of your reverie. You wish it hadn't, instantly, because all of the pain you're really in comes flooding back. Your arms ache and legs ache, your wrists and ankles are chafed, thanks in part to the chains that affix you to the wall to stop you from bending. Not that you can, anymore. She made sure of that. Just like she made sure you were in pain.

You raise your head to look at her, your hair – once so neatly confined into a topknot – falling into your face and obstructing your view. She laughs, then, an unpleasant sound that is so awfully familiar to you because you remember it once being yours. She carefully – _too carefully_ – brushes the hair out of your eyes and puts it behind your ears, clucking as she does so. Almost as if there was something you could do about it, with your arms chained so far away from your face. It is yet another gesture that strikes you as too familiar, another gesture that makes your gut clench and your blood run cold.

But with your hair out of your face, you can finally get a good look at her. The first thing that catches your eye – it's always the same thing, and you both know it – it the five-pointed crown that rests in her topknot. It gleams ever so slightly in the dim light. But you've learned, oh you've learned, while you've been chained to this wall for Agni knows how long that the crown of the Fire Nation gleams everywhere and anywhere, even in complete darkness. It seems to fit there perfectly, as if somehow completing the child you always thought of as incomplete. Some part of you thinks it should be odd, as the topknot she wears – something she never wore before, even as a child – reminds you of that Water Tribe boy's 'warrior wolf tail' or even the hair of that Kiyoshi whore he wanted to marry. Perhaps they are married now, all of these years later. But that's not important. Her hair reminds you of _him_ more than _her_ just because you know your own child's delightfully mixed heritage.

You shift yourself slightly to look at her better. She's been a complete surprise, and some part of you is still shocked by what she's done. Not that long ago, you would have sworn that she could have never even touched you, let alone defeated you. You _knew_ that she was never going to be Fire Lord; that Ozaila, her younger, firebending prodigy of a sister was going to succeed you.

It isn't a memory, it's something more. When you close your eyes, you can still feel the heat of the sun beating down on your shoulders, the hot fabric across them. The stone of the arena is warm, but not unbearably so. You chose noon, because it is the height of your power during the day, thinking that she would back down and shame herself. But she didn't. In that smoky, dark room, surrounded by your generals, she did not back down. She wasn't even afraid of you. You thought she was just foolish then, like your twice-banished brother, but now you know. She wasn't afraid. She knew you couldn't win.

At the sound of the gong, you rise regally at the fabric slips from your shoulders. You don't allow yourself to smile – not yet, and not with so many witnesses. Inside, you are smirking. You've caught your prey. You'll be rid of both of them today. You turn quickly, expecting her to be rushing you, but she isn't. She's standing, but the fabric has not yet slipped from her shoulders. Her back is to you. Again, you missed it. It was yet another warning sign, one that you couldn't read because you were so sure of her and her weaknesses. But she knew you better than you knew yourself. She, unlike that blind earthbender, could tell when you were lying.

You didn't know. You had walked into her trap – you were not the predator, you were her prey, and she had you. You decided lightning would be overkill (it's probably the reason your still alive, now), and went for a regular fireball. But as you were releasing it, your arm moved suddenly and it flew over her shoulder, completely harmless. It didn't matter; you could make another one –

It was completely different than when Ty Lee blocked your bending, because then your body was still yours. But not now. Now you are trapped in what should be your body, but it isn't. You can't feel any of it. Something is not right. And then she turns to regard you, the cloth finally slipping from her shoulders.

She draws close to you with measured, unhurried steps while the sweat trickles down your brow. She's cheating somehow, she's got help somehow, this child that can't bend an inch, neither fire nor water. It's not how it should be; it's not how it was supposed to happen. You're not afraid, as you should be; you're angry, angry that this untalented child could do something so dishonorable as to _cheat_ during an Agni-Kai –

"It's just you and I mother," she says in a voice that is too perfect in its diction, but in a voice that sounds too much the other, a voice that doesn't belong to someone of the great Fire Nation, "There's no one else in this fight."

You glare at her, telling her with your eyes that she's lying. But then she smiles – she _smirks_, looking more like you than you ever thought possible, and you draw up, eye to eye, even though you haven't told any single part of your body to move. "You're right," she says in a silky tone, "I can't bend fire, nor can I bend water. But I'm not truly a child of either. I'm a child of both, mother, so what right do I have to either?" Her smirk grows darker, and her eyes narrow. "But I bend something else. I bend what you might call a compromise." Her smile grows secretive, and you realize – for the first time ever – that there is a ring of gold in her cerulean eyes, "No, mother," she says, in the same silky, almost comforting tone, "I bend _blood_."

And then she is forcing you to bow, your mind screaming at your unheeding body as the stone of the arena comes too close for comfort. But you can't resist. There is no fighting blood bending, even at the height of your daytime power. As if sensing your inner struggle, she laughs a laugh that you recognize as yours, and it's slightly disconcerting to hear it from another's mouth. But the important part isn't that she's laughing. The important part is that while she laughs, she removes the crown from your hair. She holds it in hands, looking at it as if trying to ascertain its worth while you stare up at her. It's only then that you notice that she's finally put her hair up in something resembling a topknot – the first time you've ever seen her do so since you denied her a crown and she refused to wear one– and then you watch, aghast, as she puts the Fire Lord's crown into it.

You – and everyone else in the arena – know your reign is over. She is Fire Lord now, and you are just a weak cast-off, a wash-up, a footnote in the history books. It is only then that it strikes you how much you are alike – she even looks like you, more than Ozaila does. But you never noticed because you never cared – not since she came out of the womb with blue eyes instead of gold.

Yet here she is, _defeating_ you, destroying you and deposing you. It's actually quite funny, how the child you ignored and cast aside is the one who ended the most like you (_you thought she would be like Zuko, but there isn't any similarity between them at all, she hates you_, _she doesn't want or need anything from you_), and now that you think of it, Ozaila is very much like Katara. It seems so wrong, somehow, that the child you left for the waterbender (whom you broke and brutalized and destroyed) should raise the child that succeeded you, to raise the child that has that same dark glint in her eyes that you do.

Ah, but she hates you. You know that as she regards you through the bars of your cage, completely unafraid (not that she was ever really afraid of you, at one point she was afraid of what you could do, but she never truly feared you), her eyes glinting with something you can't identify. You know that you helped make and shape this child, mainly by ignoring her, and somehow you wish you could go back in time and tell yourself – before she was born, perhaps before she was conceived – of how strong she would be, and how perfect she would end up being, _if only you had seen it_. But you hadn't seen it, so she grew up keeping her great secret to herself, until it was too late for you to do anything to rectify the situation.

Since she's become Fire Lord, you've been expecting this moment, much like your own brother and father after your father was deposed. You've never thought of your daughter, your child, as being much like your brother recently, but she was unnaturally attached to the waterbender you decided to make your Fire Lady. You know she's going to ask, and your eyes flick to the necklace that used to grace the other's neck (before you put your own in its place, you thought it was gone until she defeated you wearing it) – the one thing that remained of her dead, lost mother. The same mother that she named their eldest child after.

You feel almost sad, until Kya opens her mouth to speak to you. "I've found her mother," Kya hisses at you, not caring about decorum anymore, just caring about telling you how badly you've lost. Lost your throne, lost your life, lost even the game of hide-and-go-seek you play with your consort and your successor.

And yet, as she walks away, the five-pointed crown again glittering, glittering, glittering, leaving you in that dark, awful prison she gave you, you feel so very, very proud of your daughter, of Fire Lord Kya, and it makes you smile.

How proud she makes you. So much better than Ozaila could ever be. Born to be Fire Lord.

In the darkness of your cell, you laugh, because even though Kya thought she has taken everything away from you, she has given you something you never thought you'd have. An heir like you.

**Meh, I was bored. I think I could write an entire premise off of this story, if I tried hard enough. I think Kya could be a very interesting character, especially with her interactions with Azula, specifically an imprisoned Azula (which is seen here). I think in this storyline, there would be a Prince Ursan somewhere.**

**Yes, Kya's parents are Azula and Katara? Why? I thought it would be an interesting premise, and a Zutaran child like Kya wouldn't be angry, so a lot of what's interesting about Kya would be lost. The main point is that I couldn't find another pairing that could possibly make someone like Kya, so I went with this one. How did they reproduce? Not really important, just that they did.**


	2. Almost Perfect

The Fire Nation capital is a huge city. There are perhaps only two places larger – Ba Sing Se and the Northern Water Tribe. At one point, the Southern Water Tribe might have been among them. But not anymore, thanks to raids by none other than the Fire Nation, directed by their Fire Lord, who lives in the capital. A capital whose population is hard to pin down, according to the census workers and other bureaucratic officials. Some say it is half a million, others say less, and still others yet say that there are more. It is argued up and down the halls of their offices, and each district within the city is argued further.

There are exactly six hundred and eighty-nine thousand four hundred and seventy-two people in the capital. In less than a week, it will have jumped to six hundred and eighty-nine thousand four hundred and ninety thanks to the birth of eighteen children. In yet another two weeks, the population will grow even more, swelled by immigrants and newborns alike. As for Ba Sing Se and the Northern Water Tribe, she didn't know. They were too far away.

But for the Fire Nation capital, for her capital, she knew exactly. She could feel every heartbeat within her city almost as if they were her own. She could track the blood as it flowed through their veins, she could track their emotions by the way it flowed through their bodies, or learn what they were saying by the way talking moved the blood in their lips, just like she had copied down the conversation between two of her generals and six of her nobles that was rife with treason a few hours ago. They had yet to learn that there was no way around her bending, that she truly was a force to be reckoned with and that her victory over Azula hadn't just been a fluke or a timed event. But at least they were afraid enough of her that they had moved down into the slums, thinking that she couldn't track them there. They had a lot to learn. Once she had a heartbeat, she could track it anywhere, no matter where it went. She could find it and follow it.

It was dangerous, though, to follow a heartbeat. The further she stretched herself to find it, the less power she had over those around her. Even her power had limits, though she was doing her best to convince her nobles otherwise. There was a limit to how many people she could control at once, and the further away they were, the weaker her control and the fewer she could control. That didn't mean she couldn't, but it weakened her to do so over long periods of time.

Not that she needed to, as most of her opponents here were firebenders, and firebenders needed to be close to their target. Close enough that she didn't really have to strain herself, and also, close enough that she could track their movements with ease. They really had no idea of her power and knowledge. She had to teach them, even two years in, just like she had had to learn herself.

But this wasn't what she was supposed to be doing. Kya sighed, exhaling a breath towards the canopy of her bed. She knew of a thousand different exercises to send her to sleep of varying depths, but she didn't bother. She wasn't going to sleep tonight, no matter what she tried. It was a full moon.

Kya had long ago learned that neither the waning of the sun nor the waning of the moon taxed her power. On the other hand, she gained no rise in strength when they were at their most powerful. She supposed that her mixed blood cancelled itself out on that point – it seemed to cancel itself out on several points, but none that could have rendered her completely helpless, like bending.

And yet despite this, the moon called to her. Perhaps she was more of a waterbender than a firebender, or perhaps it was because she was closer to her waterbending mother than she was the now-deposed Fire Lord. Or perhaps it was because she was a 'gift' from the moon to her mother. If you could call her a gift. Her conception and birth had saved her mother's life, but Kya often wondered if her mother's life would have been better had she died early on. At least her suffering would have been less.

She hissed and sat up in her bed, throwing off the silken sheets and sitting on the side. She took a calming breath, trying to douse her hatred before she did something foolish. The pale light of the moon glinted on her mother's old necklace, and Kya snatched up and brought it to her face. The old carving – apparently done for her great-grandmother – was still in good condition, though slightly worn from Kya dragging her fingers across it. The carving almost glowed in the moonlight, and for a fraction of a second, Kya wished she was a waterbender. Holding the necklace made her think of her mother, and what she remembered most about her mother was her waterbending.

Her mother. Katara. Still holding onto the necklace, Kya fell back onto her bed, again staring up at her canopy. But this time, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, though not for sleep. She ignored the pounding of the nearby city as she recalled a heartbeat from her childhood, a heartbeat that she was all-too-familiar with.

Ozaila's heartbeat, so close and so similar, pounded in her head, but she brushed it away and searched harder, trying to pinpoint the other, so much more elusive heartbeat she sought. She knew it was within the Fire Nation, she knew it had to be within the Fire Nation, and so that is where she looked. Eventually, she caught it. It was faint because it was so far away, and it was moving. On a ship.

Her mother was on a ship. Moving towards the next rendezvous point that her predecessor had set up, part of a pattern that it had taken Kya almost four years to deduce. But now Kya had broken in it, and her mother's handlers were walking into a trap. Katara, Azula's Fire Lady, would return home to find her elder daughter installed as Fire Lord. She had hoped to find her mother before her ascension to the throne, but when you are handed an opportunity, you need to use it. Besides, refusing the Agni Kai could have hurt her chances in the long run. Reduced her credibility. It wasn't like she really planned on being Fire Lord at the tender age of fourteen – never mind that she hadn't been all that 'tender' at the time.

With a snort of dark amusement, Kya released Katara's heartbeat and came back to the here and now. That day was coming, and coming soon, but there was still now to be dealt with. Now which included Ozaila

Kya gritted her teeth at the thought of her younger, firebending sister. Ozaila was probably correctly classified as a firebending prodigy, but Kya couldn't give her that honor. Her younger sister had the power and the firebending ability, yes, but Ozaila had never grasped the finer details of control or diplomacy. Two things that Kya had learned very, very well. Perhaps too well.

With a sigh, Kya rose from her bed and then carefully positioned her pillows. Very carefully. She then went and sat at her desk, resting her chin in her palm, watching the door with a sort of bored interest. As if on cue, the door opened almost silently. Kya had to resist the urge to wince at the sound and wondered if the Ozaila even heard it. Ozaila crept towards the bed stealthily in the darkness, a knife held tightly in her left hand (Kya had always found it amusing that Ozaila was left-handed). She didn't even look away from the bed, which Kya also found amusing. Of course, she didn't move or make any noise that would draw Ozaila's attention away from the bed, but still. A cursory glance should have been one of her first moves.

Ozaila reached her mound of pillows and raised her knife, hesitating just a second before bringing it down with ruthless accuracy. Kya was oddly proud; she doubted that two years ago Ozaila could have done anywhere near as well as she was now. Of course, two years of failed assassination attempts could each the stupidest firebender something.

"Nicely done," Kya congratulated her younger sister, "Too bad it was a mound of pillows."

Ozaila was immediately on the offensive. She immediately dropped into a fighting crouch and fired off a burst of flame. But as Kya had been expecting this, she merely caught Ozaila's arm before the fire left her fingertips and moved it towards her unlit brier with her own bending.

"Thank you for lighting the lamp. It wouldn't do for us to talk like barbarians in the dark, and we both know it would have taken me longer to do it myself. Honestly, you've been most helpful," Kya said as she sat back in her chair, examining her fingernails.

Ozaila flushed angrily. "It's my throne!" she protested.

Kya sighed. They'd had this argument so many times, and she was uninterested in having it now. "Go to bed, Ozaila," she responded dismissively.

"Don't treat me like a child!" Ozaila shot back, her face darkening.

"Oh?" Kya cocked her head at her younger sister, "Last time I checked, you were one. Go to bed, Ozaila." Ozaila opened her mouth to respond, but Kya cut in before she did. "I won't tell you again, Ozaila."

Ozaila snapped her mouth closed and sullenly left. Kya wondered if her predecessor had ever acted like this as a child, and then shrugged the thought away. Ozaila wasn't going to give up, and perhaps at some point, she'd get lucky. Besides, her mother loved both of them and would probably be devastated if she came home and found that Kya had had Ozaila killed.

And the message she sent by keeping Ozaila alive (_I don't have to kill everyone to keep my throne, my power is enough_) didn't hurt either. As she stood from her desk, the flickering of the flame light drew her attention to the mirror that was situated on the other side of her room. Kya doused the lamp and moved to the mirror.

She seemed to almost _glow_ in the moonlight, a testament to her mixed heritage. Her eyes were also more blue than gold, but her skin was as pale as any firebender's, if not paler, framed by her black, black hair. Gifts from her predecessor, she supposed. She examined her face in the mirror, and then drew her fingers down the reflected line of her jaw. How odd, that she had been most loved by Katara, when she and her predecessor knew the truth.

Her face told no lies. The face reflected back at her could have belonged to the now-deposed Fire Lord Azula when she herself had been sixteen. It was perhaps the only reason she was still alive.

That, and her eyes. Because even though her eyes were mainly blue, they glittered the same way Azula's used to, with all of that hidden emotion and scheming mind. How alike they really were. Kya despised it, she supposed.

Not for the first time, Kya wondered how her life would have been different had Azula realized her full potential. And not for the first time, Kya laughed at the thought.

Things were just about perfect the way they were now.


	3. Years of Denial to Change A Course

She knew it had come. She had known for a long, long time that it would come. She had known since she was set upon the ship with a smirk and a too-gentle kiss.

Four years she'd waited. Four years for the day to come. And come it had. They had been waiting when her ship—if she could call it that—had docked at the harbor for its two weeks' stay, and had immediately escorted her away from it, telling her only that it was the Fire Lord's wish that she return to the capital. They had put her on another ship and left as soon as everything was secured. She had, as befitted her status, been given the most sumptuous suite available, but it only twisted the knife deeper.

She had waited until she was alone to cry. It was a deep, bone-wracking cry, but she kept it quiet. Years of practice had ingrained it within her; and no amount of time—let alone four years—would break it. At the end of it, she merely lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling listlessly. Was there anything left to live for? Had not everything been taken away?

And yet, she could not will herself to die. It was not in her. It had never been in her. It had not been a lamentable trait, at least not until now. Now, she wished to die. She wanted everything to be over. The years of brutalization, of dehumanization, the years of being Azula's toy. How was living the answer? Surely, it was better to die.

These last four years had been a relief, to be sure, to be free from Azula and that smirk and her piercing glare. But she knew why Azula had sent her away, had exiled her on that ship. It was to cause her more pain, to take away the only thing that really mattered in her life. The only thing that made your life even slightly bearable.

Kya. Kya, her beautiful daughter. The daughter Yue gave you, to save her life, to let her live. Kya, who was worthless to Azula because of her blue eyes. But even Azula could not truly risk killing her own child, and so Kya lived. And became the sunlight of her world, a world that was drenched in darkness no matter the fact that she was in the city of firebenders. Kya, who was probably as hurt by the separation as she was.

And now, she's been called to return to the capital, to Azula's capital. Most likely to either watch her daughter's execution or to attend her funeral. Azula could explain away a lot of things, but she couldn't explain away Katara's absence at either of those events.

The thought of Kya's death made her eyes mist over with tears, but she resisted them. She was going to give Azula a strong face when she arrived at the capital. She was not going to allow Azula the pleasure of seeing her distressed. At least not in public. In private was a different matter altogether. She was going to have to breakdown sometime, and in private would be the best. Azula would sneer and laugh and torment her, but at least she would be able to present a strong face in public. As was expected of her.

To breakdown in public was to draw not just Azula's ire, but also her wrath. And her hand. Katara had scars from Azula and her rough treatment, she wasn't foolish. Some things would never fade, be they physical, emotional, or mental.

Even now, four years since the last time she saw Azula, she woke in the night crying, being absolutely certain that Azula was in the room with her, feeling Azula's hands on her skin. She would almost immediately clap her hands over her mouth, to make sure that Azula didn't hear her cries, but would then relax when she felt the rocking of the ship. The only thing that ruined these moments was knowing that Kya was still within Azula's reach. Katara had long ago given up hope on Azula's conscience or even her knowing basic morals, so there was no telling what Azula might have done to Kya in the last four years.

That was if Azula had even paid any attention to Kya at all. She had never bothered to before Katara's exile, and why should that have changed? Some small, hopeful part of Katara almost hoped her daughter had died of starvation, from Azula's lack of attention. An even smaller part of Katara hoped that Kya was still alive. But that part of her had been almost completely silenced by Azula, with Katara learning how to ignore it to make up the deficit. And so, now, Katara knew her daughter was dead. Her daughter was dead, and she was going back to Azula.

For a brief moment, she considered Ozaila, but Ozaila was Azula's child through and through. As soon as Ozaila had been old enough to walk, she had toddled after Azula, detesting being left with Katara. Katara had watched her go with resignation, while Kya had merely smiled in some type of quiet amusement that Katara had never truly understood. Not that she ever would, now. There were so many things about her daughter that she would never know. So young, so young, and yet already gone. It did not matter to Katara that she had been younger when helping Aang with his quest, it mattered that it was her daughter who had not quite reached majority. Was this how her Gran-Gran had felt, all those years ago? Katara wondered, but there would never be an answer. Gran-Gran was most likely long-dead by this point. She would never know.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she was awoken by the ship docking. Immediately, she changed her clothes and refreshed herself, knowing that she was going to be met by Azula at the dock. One of the guards—her guards—knocked at the door to let her know that they were ready for disembarkation. Katara gathered herself up and was quietly led down to the dock—where there was absolutely nothing. Katara drew her brows together. It was not in Azula's nature to pass up such an opportunity to humiliate and break Katara, but apparently she had done so this time. But all that was waiting was a palanquin, oddly done in blues and silvers instead of reds and golds.

Instead of thinking too hard about and leaving herself vulnerable, Katara merely dismissed it and allowed herself to be escorted to and into the palanquin. The ride to the palace was spent mentally preparing herself to see Azula again, to deal with her biting words and unstoppable hands. That, and preparing herself to see the ruin that had once been her elder daughter.

Upon their arrival at the palace, Katara easily got out of the palanquin, long years of practice coming into play. After exiting the palanquin, she turned to the attendants, but they merely bowed and left her there. When they had at last faded into the distance, Katara noticed that she was not in the main courtyard, but rather one of the smaller gardens.

In fact, it was the garden that Azula had given to her after a particularly vicious and public moment of spite, to soothe away worries of her cruelty. It was a lie, and they had both known it. Kya had known it. But Kya had known many things.

Katara didn't even need to fit away tears, instead sighing in resignation before moving to the side of the pond, sitting down on the bench. She knew Azula was behind her, watching her just so carefully and—

"Mother."

She jerked upright. That was not Azula's voice. Azula probably couldn't even fake that voice. And Azula would never call her mother.

"Mother."

Katara let the tears fall, and then turned to look. It was true, she was there. She was alive. "Kya," Katara whispered, holding out her hand to her eldest child.

Kya approached, and then dropped to her knees in front of Katara, resting her head in Katara's lap. Katara almost reverently stroked her daughter's ink-black hair. "My mother," Kya answered, her eyes sliding close.

The idyll moment was shattered by Katara's remembrance of her status, and how she had arrived there. She abruptly stopped stroking Kya's hair, causing her daughter to look up at her with concern. "Kya," she said, her voice hesitant and rushed at the same time, "You have to leave. You must! Azula—the Fire Lord—she'll be furious! Kya, please—"

Her plea was cut off by Kya's smile and the light catching her daughter's odd colored eyes. "It's alright, Mother," Kya assured her, "She can't hurt you anymore."

"But she's Fire Lord!" Katara protested, tears beginning to cloud her eyes.

"No she isn't," Kya answered, laying her head back down in Katara's lap, "I am Fire Lord now, Mother."

Katara returned her hand to Kya's head, but felt too frozen to stroke Kya's hair. Kya said nothing, letting her mother get over her shock. But eventually, Katara couldn't help stroking that soft, silky hair.

Some part of her had known. Some part of her had known since she had noticed the gold rings in Kya's eyes. And they were gold, not yellow or amber, but pure, liquid gold. Kya had not fully escaped the legacy of being the daughter of two master benders. But Katara had said nothing, because she did not want Azula to know. She did not want to know herself. But now, with her daughter's head in her lap, she wondered if her silence had forced Kya to become more like Azula than she had ever thought possible. She wondered if her silence had saved Kya, and by extension, herself. So she had denied it, to herself, to Azula, to Kya, for years. Years of denials and silence that had perhaps changed the course of the world. Or perhaps not.

She decided it didn't matter as she continued to stroke Kya's hair. She had her daughter, she had her freedom, and no one could take that away. Not even the Avatar.

For the first time in years, Katara smiled fully, before leaning down to press a kiss to Kya's forehead. Kya frowned at the action and pulled away, obviously sensing something more to Katara's action than Toph would have. But Katara merely continued to smile, moving her hand to cup Kya's cheek. "My daughter," she said finally, "My Fire Lord. My bloodbender."


	4. All Alone as the Summer Sun Dies

She is the favored child. No, she had been the favored child. She isn't now, not anymore. She supposes she misses it, even if she can only vaguely remember what it felt like. She'd always toddled after Azula, doing her best to make the then-Fire Lord proud of her, to be better than Kya, which hadn't been hard. Not then, when Kya's secret had still been a secret. Not when everyone knew Kya was powerless, no matter how much she looked like Fire Lord Azula, not when everyone knew that Ozaila was going to succeed her mother.

The only thing about that time that Ozaila can clearly remember was being angry. Angry at Kya, because no matter what Ozaila did, she could never get under Kya's skin. She could never make Kya believe that Ozaila truly was better than she. Kya had always just sort of smirked and moved on. The only time she had even been close to getting a rise out of Kya was when she insulted the waterbender. Ozaila had put on her best sneer and said that Kya's second-best status was reinforced but the fact that their lesser parent loved her so much. Kya's eyes had flickered dangerously for a moment, causing Ozaila's blood to freeze (though not literally) before Kya had merely smiled sadly and patted Ozaila's head before moving along. Ozaila had been boiling with anger, completely unable to understand Kya at all and furious about it.

She understands now. It has taken years, but she understands now. She understands because she is all alone. Azula's reign had never been permanent, and Azula had never truly loved Ozaila. That had hurt, but then Ozaila had realized that Azula probably can't love anyone or anything, not even herself. But the lack of love from Azula makes Ozaila feel pathetic and unimportant. Oh, Katara loves her (Katara had carried Ozaila in her womb for nine months and brought Ozaila into the world, so of course she loves Ozaila), but she loves Kya more. Ozaila is painfully aware of that truth, just like she is aware that Kya doesn't love her in any way, shape, or form.

That really hurts. It had taken the first six months of Kya's reign for Ozaila to realize and come to terms with the fact that she's always wanted her sister to love her and accept her and read her bedtime stories, but years of trailing Azula have left her unable to do anything but sneer. Her own actions have created an impenetrable rift between them, a rift that Kya seemed quite content with, even though it hurts Ozaila considerably. So, Ozaila is isolated even within her own family.

In fact, there was no one at court for Ozaila to truly interact with. All of the nobles thought of Ozaila as the chink in Kya's armor, even though they were so very, very wrong. To them, Ozaila was nothing more than a possible child sovereign, a puppet to put on the throne while they played out their machinations behind the curtain of fire. So they whisper that their children should befriend Ozaila, to help them get close to the young princess, the young heir to the throne and five-pointed crown.

But Ozaila is Azula's child (and if she was brutally honest with herself, as she was coming to be, Katara's child) to the point that she sees through their pitiful gestures of friendship and rejects them. She will not be anyone's pawn, and so she kept the court at arm's length. It makes it difficult for her to have allies, but it also makes it impossible for her to be used. Not like any of the nobles present can fool Kya, can successfully engineer a power play without her noticing. And using Kya's younger sister in it would bring even greater wrath than they knew. But Ozaila knows, and so she snubbed them all. She is, after all, still Kya's heir, no matter how much it burned. And she is still alone.

It was, partly, why she has taken up trying to kill Kya herself. She knows it is next to impossible to be successful (assassins who had twice her years in training and experience had never even touched the Fire Lord), but it forces Kya to pay attention to her. When she is trying to kill Kya, it forces all of Kya's considerable gaze directly upon her. And Ozaila merely lifts her chin and hoped Kya notices just how desperately she wants Kya's attention, and Kya's love. Because she knows, at one point, that Kya had loved her unconditionally. She can vaguely remember those times, warm like midwinter sunshine upon her face. She remembers being unequivocally happy.

She wants them back. And she will fight for them. She will fight for them the way she had never fought for anything else. The way she's never had to fight for anything, as Azula's favorite and the current Fire Lord's heir. She makes sure her tutors spent hours on trade agreements, politics, military strategy and all sorts of other things they once tried to convince her were not for a girl her age. Well, not really the military strategy, as that had been Azula's doing, before she was deposed.

But some part of Ozaila knew that it wasn't enough. Azula may have had these lessons, and even Zuko may have sweated over decades-old treaties, but Kya had never even glanced at them. At least she hadn't before she became Fire Lord. Ozaila wasn't so sure what Kya had studied after she became Fire Lord, but she most definitely had not been ruled by her advisors, who thought she would be a weak ruler. In fact, those same advisors had been executed less than two weeks into Kya's reign, their words of high treason read back to them before the final blow was administered. Kya leads with a part of her Ozaila don't have, some instinctive sense that Ozaila knows she doesn't have, and never will have. She wonders if Azula ever knew this, and if her tutors even notice that she's been steering her studies towards those of a future general.

Ozaila doesn't know how to tell Kya. She's still trying to kill Kya; she's still telling Kya that she's supposed to be Fire Lord, even though they both know she couldn't make it. Ozaila is not fit to be Fire Lord, just like Zuko. Oh, Zuko was a good Fire Lord, just and kind and everything the Fire Nation needed after the end of the century-long war, but he didn't have that instinctive ability to rule, that instinctive ability to know the right choice even before the mental weighing of the pros and cons. And Zuko, above all else, lacked subtlety and cunning. He had to rely heavily on his advisors, and the Avatar, who was not and will never be the ruler of anything. Azula was easily able to replace him because she had that instinct; she was the master of cunning and had been raised beside subtlety. Sometimes, when she's alone and in one of the nearly abandoned gardens (save for the gardeners), Ozaila wonders if the uncle she's never met realizes that he was deposed because he truly was lacking, or if he just thinks that Azula was more familiar to the nobles of the Fire Nation. She decides she'll never ask him, even if she meets him. Which is unlikely, even with Kya on the throne, because Kya has kept her ascension incredibly quiet. And the peasants love Kya, even more than they loved Azula; so they'll listen to anything she says, do anything she says.

It's no secret, at least to her, that she will never be Fire Lord. She doubts it's a secret to Kya, Kya who knows just about everything. Kya, who knows that she was standing just where Katara couldn't see her to watch their mother's long-overdue homecoming. Kya, who knows that Ozaila's heart clenched in pain at the scene.

But that matters little now, as Kya stares her down from across the table she has used for her studies since she started them, in a room she's sure Kya has never been in before now. But Kya is watching her with those eyes—those strange eyes that Ozaila doesn't share. Just like Ozaila doesn't share her sister's ink-black hair or narrow eyes, though their skin is of comparable shade. Ozaila is darker, but that's to be expected.

"Why?" Kya demands, her voice cold and detached. Her voice is almost always this way, at least in private. Even with their mother.

Ozaila fights the urge to cringe, and doesn't ask for clarification. She knows what Kya is asking, because Kya knows. "I'm never going to be Fire Lord," Ozaila mumbles, looking down at the table, as if trying to memorize the grain of its wood.

To her astonishment, Kya laughs. "And whatever makes you say that, little sister?" she demands, "You have been groomed to be Fire Lord since you born, and perhaps even before. By the time you are my age, you will know more about ruling the Fire Nation than anyone else in the capital!"

She vehemently shakes her head no. "I can't be Fire Lord," Ozaila denies, "I don't have the instinct."

It's then that Kya sits back her chair and Ozaila feels like she's being dissected, pulled apart and she's not sure that Kya reassembles anything. "I see," Kya says finally, her voice intrigued now, even if it's still cold and distant, "Would you prefer the army, the navy, or the air force?"

"The treaties signed by Fire Lord Zuko prohibit the Fire Nation from creating and maintaining an air force of any type," Ozaila says, almost automatically, even if it's the one thing she really, really wants to be involved in.

Kya smiles, honestly amused. "You need to look slightly closer at your history lessons," Kya informs her, "specifically recent history. Those treaties were nullified by Fire Lord Azula when she declared her brother to be a usurper not in the true line of succession."

Yes, Ozaila knows this, but Azula could never truly find someone to raise an air force, so it still doesn't exist. Kya doesn't seem to be an aggressive leader, but what does she know? Nothing, apparently. "She also barred any of his children from succession," Ozaila says, not sure that's what Kya is looking for.

"Not that they could actually garner any support here," Kya shrugs, "having been raised in Ba Sing Se. As far as the nobles are concerned, they're foreigners, not truly citizens of the Fire Nation at all."

"There is that," Ozaila agrees, and then looks away, "You knew, even when we were little. You knew I wasn't going to be Fire Lord."

It's not an accusation. Kya knows this, and she doesn't close her eyes or pretend that it's painful. "Yes," Kya concedes, "I knew."

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" Ozaila demands, head bowing in shame.

"No idiot would realize they aren't cut out to be something that everyone else thinks they will be," Kya counters, before changing the subject, "So, the air force? You'll need to broaden your horizons, then. More than just military strategy. You'll need to know about military design, as well." Kya stands then, and sweeps out of the room. Ozaila stays, and then moves over to the windows, and the balcony that looks over a great portion of her sister's capital.

Kya doesn't know how to cross the gap. She knows how to use Ozaila, who was never truly a threat anyway, to her advantage as well as Ozaila's. But Kya is too much of Azula's child to be able to cross the gap, or to want to cross the gap. Kya can make allies but she keeps them at arm's length, much like Azula did. They probably don't even realize that they're being kept at arm's length, though Ozaila could point it out to them, probably like Zuko did to Azula. And then she could…

She could what? Take over the Fire Nation, only to be deposed by Kya before she's made her mark? She isn't cut out to be Fire Lord. Kya is. Kya is cut from the same cloth as Azula, as Iroh, as Azulon. Ozaila will never be able to come close.

So she lets the wind buffet her face as the summer sun sinks below the mountains, breathing its last for the day. She watches it cast out its last rays, and knows that she'll always be somehow alone within her own family, like she always has been. But something in Kya's eyes tells her that Kya doesn't hate her, and she'll always be Kya's sister, even if they're never close.

It doesn't help Ozaila feel any less alone.


	5. Wonderful Peace

His body felt abused. His body was abused. And yet his mind wouldn't empty. He hadn't been able to meditate properly in years. Every time he sat down and cleared his mind—

"_You're a terrible Avatar!"_

And so he was jerked back into reality. Sometimes he jerked back into reality with tears streaming down his face. He no longer even bothered to try meditating, especially in public. Someone else had taught his own children to meditate, because he couldn't do it.

What was he supposed to have done? He was the Avatar; he was supposed to keep peace alive. He was supposed to keep the balance between the Four Nations (hell, he basically had to single-handedly rebuild one!); he had done the right thing—

"_You just rolled over and died! You didn't even try to fight! You let Azula win! Played right into her trap, like a damn fool!"_

Sokka had told him he'd done the right thing. Iroh had told him he'd done the right thing. Hell, Ty Lee had told him he'd done the right thing. Zuko he hadn't even bothered to talk to about his decision. Zuko had his own shame to bear, and Aang had felt no need to add to it. But Toph—Toph had been so angry. Toph had spat at him and refused to let him near, yelling at him and shouting all sorts of things that reverberated in his head, even now. Aang had responded in anger to his former teacher, a response, he realized, that was seated in the fear that he knew she was right. He had tried so hard to silence that part of him (which unerringly spoke in Toph's voice), part of him continued to argue that it was Sokka's sister and Sokka had agreed with him…

But there was a terrible distance between himself and Sokka. It had silently grown over the years, with Aang never realizing it was there until it was too great for him to cross. Zuko had withdrawn from everyone, for the most part, falling into his duties as an exiled royal with a practiced ease that was frightening, a quality that was reinforced by the fact that there was something about his gait that spoke of its permanence. Azula had Katara, and Toph—Toph had left him in anger, her yelling and screaming and ranting having been replaced by an impenetrable silence. Aang found he preferred the ranting. He wanted his friends back, he wanted someone to talk to and laugh with, like old times.

"_Some friend you are! Still just a scared little airbender, running away!"_

What was he supposed to do, fight Azula? Plunge the world into another war? It was still recovering from the last war, even now. How could he let another happen, let alone start one? What was one life against thousands?

"_How can you not realize you've undermined yourself as the Avatar? When did you become so stupid and blind?"_

He'd stopped a war. And divided the nations. He knew where Toph was. How could he not know? Bumi had chosen her as his heir, and she was good at it. Or so he had heard. He couldn't go to Omashu. He wasn't welcome there. Toph had told him never to visit, the last time he'd seen her, in a flat, emotionless voice that was nothing like the Toph he had known.

But it wasn't just Omashu. The Fire Nation was also closed to him. Closed to just about everyone, actually, though it was thriving. There had been some unrest in the Fire Nation two years ago, but everything had settled down, much to Sokka's discontent. Aang knew he had been hoping that Azula would be deposed and that he could at last get his sister back, but nothing of the sort happened. So he just retreated back to the South Pole while the Earth Kingdoms went back to their ceaseless bickering.

"_Some peace you've got, twinkle toes."_

Aang took a deep, steadying breath, wishing he could meditate. His mind was abuzz and he couldn't slow it. He'd had a headache for years now, and there was nothing he could do to make it go away. He couldn't even ask Roku for help, because he couldn't meditate long enough to reach the Spirit World, even though he was supposed to act as a bridge between it and the plane of the living. And his headache was only going to get worse, especially in the coming weeks.

All of his…former friends were gathering in Ba Sing Se . They were going on a diplomatic mission to the Fire Nation as something had subtly shifted and its doors had been slightly been opened, apparently on the Fire Lord's orders. Even Toph was going. He didn't know how he would handle seeing Toph again, not after all this time.

"Avatar," his eldest son said from behind him.

"Yes, Gyatso?" he answered, stilly slightly caught up in his thoughts and the impending meeting with Toph.

"A message just came from Omashu," Gyatso continued, and Aang motioned for him to continue, despite the tightening of his stomach, "Queen Toph has found her own way to the Fire Nation and will not be joining us in Ba Sing Se."

Aang took another steadying breath at the news. So much for presenting even a somewhat united front. "Thank you, Gyatso," Aang said, "Remember, you will come with us to represent the Air Nomads."

"Yes, Avatar," Gyatso bowed, even though Aang couldn't see it, and left the room, oblivious to Aang's bitter smile.

The people waiting for him in Ba Sing Se had once been his friends. The Four Nations used to speak to each other and send ambassadors crawling about the globe. His son had once called him Daddy.

What a wonderful peace he'd wrought.


	6. Biding the Time

A deep breath, to fill his lungs and clear his mind.

_Eyes that were blue with a ring of gold. _

Gyatso's own eyes came open. He couldn't mediate, just like the Avatar. He was worried. Worried about someone he shouldn't have to worry about, all things considered. It was something he'd learned the hard way, truth be told.

Of course, if truth be told, then he's not really worried about Kya. He's worried about the Avatar saying something idiotic. He's worried about having to take the Avatar's side, about playing the role of son of the Avatar and eldest Airbender. As both of these, he is expected to both defer to and respect the Avatar. Two things he hasn't done since he was a small child, back when the Avatar was still against impregnating women to respawn the Airbending Nomads.

He can hear Kya's mocking laughter even now, can see the Avatar growing angry, perhaps responding with violence. For being the man who's supposed to balance the world, the Avatar has a short temper. A temper that Gyatso has never seen in any of his (numerous) younger siblings.

After that imagined scene, he doesn't know what will happen. He doesn't know if Kya can actually take the Avatar, or if she can survive the fight. If they do fight, Kya's best chance stands in killing the Avatar immediately. Kya will know this, and Kya will know that killing the Avatar doesn't have a pretty end result—not when she's the Fire Lord and he's the Avatar. The war that will most certainly follow the current Avatar's death will be bitter and prolonged—and Kya is shrewd enough to realize how to profit from it. The Fire Nation won't be drawn in—not if Kya kills the Avatar, and not with how isolated it's been under first Azula and then Kya.

But what worries him is the fact that he'll have to choose a side. And he knows the side he'll choose won't be the side he's supposed to choose, which makes him grind his teeth in anger and frustration. Oh, he's been the good little son, but the Avatar hasn't been anything distantly resembling the noble, revered father he's supposed to be. The Avatar was a broken fool, and the world knew it. A broken fool who couldn't love his own children, couldn't be there for them, no matter how hard they tried. They were just another one of his obligations. Well, Gyatso was tired of him, and of being there for him. What had the Avatar ever done to deserve his loyalty? What had the Avatar done recently to deserve anyone's loyalty?

He took another deep breath to steady himself. This surge of emotions—he was jealous. Of Kya and Katara and their reunion. His mother loved him—but it was in a prideful way. She loved that she had borne the Avatar's first Airbending child. And it made it just so difficult to see Kya have something he didn't, and possibly never would. It was just so difficult to bide his time and wait, like Kya had, when he knew that what he so desperately wanted wasn't going to be waiting on the other side. He wondered if Kya would laugh at the sentiment.

Because there was a time when he had stopped waiting, when he had stopped wanting, when he had thrown off all of the expectations on his shoulders and decided to live on his own terms. He had managed to make it to the Fire Nation after a harrowing and nearly fatal trip, only to find himself jerked out of the sky by Kya's bloodbending. He had crashed into her balcony and been pulled inside, the door closing softly behind him.

As soon as he'd regained his bearings, he'd sat up to denounce his captor, only to find his jaw unable to open. Angrily, he raised his eyes, only to be taken aback when they met those of blue-and-gold, calm and in control. Something he couldn't quite grasp flickered in their depths, and it stole the fight from him.

"You are one of the biggest fools I've ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on," she commented it, "Keep it down."

His jaw was released. "Who are you?" he demanded, remembering to keep his voice down. He was in enemy territory, with an unknown force staring him down from across the room. The Avatar once told him about bloodbending long ago, back when the Avatar was more than just the Avatar to him.

She smirked at him, amusement flickering in her odd eyes. "Because it's not obvious who you are," she said, turning away from him to straighten some papers on her desk, "Definitely not one of the Avatar's _precious_ Airbending sons."

_That_ hit a nerve. He didn't want to be part of the Avatar's obligation to respawn the Airbenders; he didn't want to be pulled down by the same fate, even though it was now becoming apparent that he would be. And she was very obviously the Fire Lord's daughter, but she wasn't Ozaila. But there was still the matter of her blue-and-gold eyes. "At least I'm not the Fire Lord's waterbending spare!" he snarled.

It was completely the wrong thing to say. His lungs suddenly decided to go on strike, and he tipped forward, his face acquainting itself with the floor. "I am not a waterbender," came the cold reply.

He managed to nod, and his lungs reopened. He scrambled away until his back pressed into the doorframe, gasping for air and trying to force his starved brain to put the pieces together. She wasn't a waterbender, but the shape of her cheekbones and the line of her jaw almost matched every portrait he'd seen of Fire Lord Azula, even the less kind ones.

"Are you going to hand me over to your mother?" he asked quietly, ready to accept this new fate that had presented itself. Perhaps it would be better than the one ordained by his birth.

Her gaze hardened. "I don't even know where my mother is," she said, her voice too controlled.

Gyatso looked at her again, this time more closely. There were vague lines of Fire Lady Katara in her face. It didn't make any sense. "How are you the daughter of both the Fire Lord and her Fire Lady?" he asked, genuinely curious and feeling less threatened that before.

"I was a gift from the moon," she said darkly. There was an old bitterness in her voice, a bitterness that he understood.

"Better than me," he replied, "The Avatar was drunk at my conception and called out another woman's name." Neither of them needed to say whose name it was, it sat between them in the room like a doomsayer.

She laughed, though, pure and open. It was still bitter, but she had ignored the tail end of his comment. "I suppose that neither of us sprung from a happy coupling," she conceded, "My name is Kya."

"I am Gyatso," he inclined his head, "Now, excuse my lack of decorum, but are you going to turn me over to the Fire Lord?"

"If it was my intent for you to fall into the Fire Lord's clutches, I would've made you crash in the courtyard where the guards could easily find you," she told him.

"You made me crash," he realized, and then begun to truly add everything up. His jaw, his lungs, the crash…it all came together. "You're a bloodbender!" he exclaimed, and she stilled, eyes narrowing. "But I've never even heard of you!" He'd heard of Ozaila, of Azula's near-clone, but never of Kya, who was obviously older. "The Fire Lord doesn't know you're a bloodbender. Does she even know you can bend?"

"No," she replied.

"Why not?" he demanded. Why wouldn't she tell the Fire Lord, one of her mothers, that she was a _bloodbender_? The only one that had ever existed in the history of the world?

Kya frowned, gazing off into the distance. "I am—biding my time," she said after a long pause, "The right moment has yet to come."

Gyatso understood, then. He understood the pain of being looked at and not being seen, of being disregarded and left behind and just not considered important. His love and adoration had morphed into disregard and apathy, but Kya's—if had even ever existed—had become hatred and disgust. He looked out the window, at where the moon should be, and opened his mouth to speak of other things. He would come back, he knew. He and Kya, despite all of their differences, were too similar for him to stay away. It was freeing to know there was someone who understood in ways that none of his siblings could understand, too proud to be the children of the Avatar to comprehend his pain and distance.

He came back, time and time again, trying to understand her need to wait, to let the time slip by without even a whimper. He knew that her situation must be worse than his own, because the Fire Lord was cruel, but still Kya simply smiled and shook her head, saying that it was not yet time.

And then he crashed into a different balcony, was pulled inside different doors. He knew, this time, that it was Kya, so he merely stood and brushed himself off before turning to address her. His jaw had again refused to work, but this time it was because of a five-pointed crown glistening in her topknot. He was beyond exuberance, and she merely laughed at him, pure and open, the bitterness faded slightly.

He had been so reluctant to leave that time, but she merely shook her head and told him that the time had not come. He bowed to the Fire Lord, and she cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together ever so briefly.

"The time will come," she murmured to him, the moon casting bright shadows in her room, "Wait for it." And then she had released him.

"I am," he replied before setting off for the nearest Air Temple, where he was training with his numerous siblings. When the time came, he would take up his place at her side.

Now, sitting in his room, counting down the moments before the tip, he could feel the time approaching. Kya probably could as well—she had to know that the Avatar would bring a handful of his eldest children, and that Gyatso would be among them. This coming trip could be a novel experience, and he would stay for more than just a handful of hours—it would be permanent. He smiled at the thought. It would be majestic and wonderful—he and Kya, paving the way for the next generation of leaders.

A generation without need of an Avatar. Yes, it would be wonderful indeed.

**Hey look, it's alive! And sort of back!**

**Also, I have started the next one. Cross your fingers and hold your breath and hope it's done soonish.  
**


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